


Only a Paper Moon

by adi_rotynd



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adi_rotynd/pseuds/adi_rotynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt has plenty of concerns about the future, but there's nothing like worrying you won't make it through the weekend alive to take your mind off that. (For <a href="http://wolfs-blane.tumblr.com/post/25617059588/heres-my-art-for-the-kblreversebang-link-to">this</a> picture, by <a href="http://wolfs-blane.tumblr.com/">wolfs-blane</a> in the <a href="http://kbl-reversebang.livejournal.com/">kbl-reversebang</a>!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Paper Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy, and by all means comment should it strike your fancy, my best beloveds.~

**Spoilers:** Up to 3.20ish  
 **Warnings:** Some internalized homophobia.  
 **Disclaimer:** RIB and FOX own everything ever.   
**Beta:** rdm-ation on LJ

 

Kurt had plans for the weekend. His plans were beautiful, relaxing, and centered mainly around Blaine. His plans were certain and solid. 

Right up until Friday afternoon, when Santana grabbed his arm and hipchecked him into the astronomy room. “So, Moonfaced Faun of the Nether Woods, what say you come to my yet-another-year-older bash this weekend?” she purred, slipping an invitation into his hand. 

Kurt looked down at the card. The paper was pink and smelled like lilacs, and was inscribed in crayon. The crayon was also pink, which made the actual message difficult to read. “I’d love to,” he said carefully, “except that I have an intense feeling that I’d regret it. What does this say?” 

“Don’t worry about that. It was written and signed by your senior class president, which means you have to accept.” 

Kurt tilted his head. “You realize that student body officials don’t really have that kind of power, right?”

“Of course they do. What else would be the point of them?” She thrust several more invitations under his nose and rifled through them, sending a cloud of perfume into his face. He sneezed. Santana, unperturbed, continued, “I’m having an all-girls weekend at my aunt’s isolated lake house, just us teens, and I need you and your fairy princess of a boyfriend along to amuse my girlfriend on the drive.” 

“And as _flattering_ as that is –” 

“Oh, no, I think you still don’t understand.” Santana folded her arms. “You’re coming with us. This isn’t actually a request.” 

“Santana, come on. I was going to spend the weekend making out with Blaine, and I have to get ready for Finn’s birthday too, you know. Anyway, don’t you want to spend your birthday with your family?” 

She raised her chin, expression draining away. “I usually celebrate with my abuela.” 

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t –” 

“So you’re coming. I’ll text the deets to your hobbit Elvis. Later, Prude-silla.” She wiggled her fingers and turned, skirt dancing as she swished out the door. 

Kurt slumped into the nearest chair with a groan. His phone buzzed, and he found a text from Blaine: _There’s some smelly pink paper in my locker. Is this a new bullying thing? Did they give you one? I don’t get it._

Kurt waved goodbye to his relaxing weekend. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Still, he thought – at least the worst was over. This was why glee club was so time consuming; all the hijinks and drama. Sometimes he couldn’t help thinking enviously of the Warblers, where they spent a few hours practicing their vocals and choreography and then were done for the day. Not that he’d really trade, but still, a man could dream. However, he’d already been emotionally blackmailed into a horror movie premise by the most homophobic lesbian he knew. That was plenty of hijinks. He really thought the rest of the weekend might be comparatively smooth sailing, at least until the alcohol came out. 

He thought this right up until the time machine. 

Brittany rushed up to him in the parking lot and linked their arms, grinning widely. “I heard you and Blaine are coming with Santana and me on our big gay weekend.” 

“Apparently so,” Kurt said, pulling his sunglasses from his bag with his free hand. 

“Super cool. Well, I just wanted to tell you not to worry. I promise not to let our personal history get in the way of all our moonlit skinny dipping, and Santana’s packing like… mad razorblades, so you don’t have to be scared of going to the past.” 

“Going passed… what?”

“No, going back in time.” Brittany skipped as they progressed toward his car, tugging on his arm in her exuberance. “Didn’t Blaine tell you? He’s been helping me finish my time machine.” She lowered her voice, leaning in close. Her breath smelled like cherries. “I’m pretty sure it worked because he’s from the mystical land of Middle Earth, like Santana says Rachel is? But I already tested it, and it’s 100% safe, so don’t worry about mixing magic and science.” 

Kurt bit back a sigh. Of course they couldn’t have a normal weekend. Knowing Santana’s baby-soft spot for Brittany, they were in dire peril of spending two days playing _Frontier House_ in order to appease her. “Britt, you remember when we talked about how sometimes you see things differently than I do? And when that happens, you have to explain yourself so that I can catch up. Well, this is one of those times.” 

“Blaine will explain things,” Brittany said. “I caught him up already. See you later!” She kissed his cheek and scampered away. 

“He’d better,” Kurt said. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The thing about being spontaneous, Kurt had found, was this: When you were a senior studying like hell to get accepted into the college of your dreams so that you wouldn’t have to work in a coffee shop in Ohio forever, and when you also had a very time-consuming daily schedule involving the Tracy Anderson Method and a lot of moisturizers, and when your best friend in the world was high-maintenance on the best of days and had recently blown her own chance to get into said dream college, and when your brother’s birthday was coming up but you were mad at him for exploding the microwave at three in the morning… you didn’t have time for spontaneity. 

There was, however, a happy medium. Blaine had agreed to come over to Kurt’s house first thing Saturday morning. They would have had the whole weekend to themselves, everything else in their lives permitting. It was to have been an epic, two-day, unscheduled but pre-planned make out/reality TV session, right between ‘spontaneous’ and ‘impossible’. 

And then all this happened. 

Blaine, when pressed on the subject of time machines, lay back on Kurt’s bed and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “She thinks the car is a time machine.” 

Kurt sat down beside him and reached over to stroke his shoulder. “Okay, now walk me through this. What car is a time machine… and _how_?”

“Both good questions,” Blaine said into his hands. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. Kurt only admired his ass for a few seconds before looking firmly back into his eyes. “What happened was, Brittany’s dad bought her a used Chevy for her birthday –” 

“Brittany _drives_? On the road with other people?”

“ – and she asked me to fine-tune it, since I mentioned I knew how. So I’ve been working on it, on and off, and last week I finished. And _then_ she told me it was a time machine.” He nuzzled closer to Kurt’s hip. “I probably should have been suspicious when she unveiled it that first time with the sparkles and giant clock, but I’m pretty used to that sort of thing….”

“It was a really important scarf, Blaine.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

“Anyway, I think the gist of it is that she believes going to the country is going back in time because there are cows and no malls, like in some book she had when she was little? I tried to explain things, but she just winked at me a lot. I guess it didn’t sink in.” 

“Oh my god,” Kurt said, lying back and curling around Blaine with a groan. 

“Hey. I mean, it’s embarrassing and I’m sorry I played pawn in her nefarious scheme, but this will still be fun, right?” He trailed the tip of his nose up Kurt’s neck and behind his ear, leaving Kurt squirming and giggling. “We can kiss in the moonlight… frolic in dappled glades…” His eyes lit up. “Maybe there will be a dewy meadow we can strew with lilacs.” 

Kurt, who had been about to protest in the name of mosquitos and sunburn, paused. “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose…” 

“Plus,” Blaine added, teasing his fingers between the buttons of Kurt’s shirt, “we’ll get to travel into the past, to a simpler and securer time.” 

“Oh, ha ha.” Kurt sighed. “It’s just that I was really looking forward to spending the weekend alone with you. Everything’s started snowballing, and, I don’t know, the only simpler and securer time I’m interested in is the beginning of this year. Before all of these huge decisions rushed right at us. I want time to just… hold on to you. I’m going to miss Santana and Brittany too, but they’re not the ones I’m going to be in a cross-state-lines relationship with.” 

“It’s called a long-distance relationship, Kurt.”

“My way sounds more like star-crossed lovers.” 

“Well… true, but we’re not actually star-crossed. Anyway, it’s my job to worry about the statistical probability of our breakup.” 

“Right. Of course, how silly of me. You get back on that.” 

Blaine saluted, or tried to and got his hand tangled between them. Kurt dipped down and kissed him. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_“Fifty-three jumping monkeys on the wall, fifty-three jumping monkeys,”_ Brittany sang in the backseat. _“Take one down, bounce it around….”_ She stopped. 

“Fifty-two,” Santana said, muffled in Brittany’s lap. She swore she was just napping between driving shifts, but Kurt kept checking in the rearview mirror just in case. He would not be pulled over and have the officer arrest them for public impropriety. 

_“Fifty-two jumping monkeys!”_ Brittany finished, beaming. “I just saw a whole bunch of cows, you guys. We’re definitely on our way.” 

“Should we be on the lookout for explosions of neon light, or a warp in the fabric of reality, maybe a swirling tunnel?” Kurt turned the first corner in miles and braked for a cow crossing. The cow looked at him. It seemed unimpressed. 

“Don’t act like the idiot you so closely resemble,” Santana said. 

“This isn’t a movie. We’re just sliding through,” Brittany agreed. “I didn’t get us any CGI like they use to generate Bill Clinton’s face.” 

“Right. No special effects as we travel through time in a used Chevy. Pardon my assumption.” 

“Be nice,” Blaine said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. 

“Blaine’s right, physically though it pains me to say it. I’m breaking this up, and I don’t want to hear any more about it or I’ll turn the car around so help me God,” Santana said. She reached up and ran her fingers through Brittany’s hair. “Now hush, Britt-Britt. I’ll sing you a lullaby.” 

“In Spanish?”

“Mm-hm.” 

“Totally hot.” 

Brittany settled back with her eyes closed. Kurt rolled his eyes so hard it hurt, and Brittany, without opening hers, said, “Don’t be jealous because of our heated and tempestuous past, Kurt. I told you we can’t let that ruin Santana’s big gay weekend.” 

“Come on, guys, just one more hour,” Blaine said. 

“Unless we get lost again,” Kurt muttered, glaring at the mirror. 

_“Había una vez un barco chiquitico,”_ Santana sang, halting and sweet. Brittany smiled dreamily. _“Había una vez un barco chiquitico, había una vez un barco chiquitico, que no sabía, que no sabía, que no sabía navegar…”_

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It appeared, from the outside, to be a very nice cabin, but it was still just that. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Kurt said, trying to balance Santana’s luggage on top of his own. “Four teenagers with no adult supervision, at an isolated cabin in the woods by _Poe Lake_. We’re all going to die. The only question is whether Santana or Brittany will go first.” 

“Well, you’ll be perfectly safe, Virginia McTightass,” Santana said. “For someone who refuses to watch horror films, you are really hung up on them.” 

“I just think we should be prepared. You know, better safe –” 

Blaine and Brittany barreled past them, pounding down the slope toward the beach and off the end of the dock with a holler and a screech respectively. 

“Look out for rocks!” Kurt called. 

Santana snickered. 

“Watch it or carry your own suitcase,” Kurt warned, stepping up into the cabin. It had actual log walls, which was quaint and adorable, and only two rooms, which was less so. But they could, he supposed, afford to share the living/bedroom, given the breakdown of gender and orientation. It was a fair trade for indoor plumbing in the bathroom. “I just hope we all understand that Blaine and I get the bed,” he added, dropping the suitcases on the rug in front of the fireplace. 

“Wrestle me for it on tape and we’ll talk,” Santana said. She stepped out of her dress and banged the screen door on her way to the beach. 

“Oh, _try me_ ,” Kurt called. He had rather more preparing to do, and grabbed his hat, sunscreen, and giant umbrella before following. The sun glanced off the water, forcing him to retreat behind his sunglasses as he picked his way rapidly across the stony beach.

“Chicken! Chicken!” Brittany yelled, and dove underwater. 

“Oh my God, it’s freezing!” Santana protested, scampering back out. 

“Come on, Santana, it’s not that –” Blaine said, and disappeared, hands thrown above his head. 

“Blaine!” Kurt paused only briefly to weigh the fact that his sunscreen hadn’t had time to sink in against his boyfriend’s life. “If he gets eaten by a lake monster because you couldn’t have a normal birthday party –!” he yelled on his way into the water, mere seconds before a dripping eight-foot behemoth emerged from the depths. 

“Chicken,” Brittany repeated, hands clamped around Blaine’s shins. “Santana, I really want to play.” 

“I don’t feel secure,” Blaine said, fingers white on her forehead. 

“Winner gets the bed,” Kurt said instantly. “Get over here, Santana.” 

“Well, it’s not nude wrestling on tape, preferably with both of us oiled up, but what the hell. Call it going soft in my old age,” Santana conceded. “Come here, Kurt, I’m not going back in unless it’s on top of your shoulders so only my feet get wet.” 

“You were going to wrestle Kurt in the nude?” Brittany pouted. “I like that idea better.” 

“Well, I don’t!” Blaine frowned. “I don’t think I do.” 

“You’re not picturing it well enough, then,” Santana said. 

“Too late, chicken it is.” Kurt returned to Santana and knelt down. “And no fair strangling me with your thighs, either.” 

“I don’t strangle with these puppies, I _break_. They based that scene in _Blade Runner_ on this time a guy tried to take my booth at Breadstix.” 

Kurt grabbed her ankles. “Blaine, I love you, and I want you to dislodge this girl like my life depends on it.” 

Blaine sat up straighter on Brittany’s shoulders and cracked his knuckles. “Bring it on.” 

“And no fair toppling over, you two,” Santana warned, tapping Kurt’s forehead. “Curls or I have to come _off_ or it doesn’t count. And by Curls or I, I mean you.” She lunged for Blaine, bending Kurt’s neck forward sharply. 

“Oh, god,” he protested, both in pain and horror at the water. There were fish down there. “I should have worn water shoes,” he lamented when he was jolted backward and his heel landed in something squishier than the surrounding muck. 

“Death before water shoes,” Brittany said, breath coming short as she planted her feet deeper in the mud. “Didn’t you read my interview in _Teen Vogue_? You should probably update your wardrobe before you go to New York, and that would be a good start.” 

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Kurt said, and then “ow!” when Blaine, tipping backward, kicked him in the shoulder. 

“Sorry!” But he had regained his balance and reached again for Santana, which Kurt considered well worth it. 

“That interview is from _last year_ , and I’m always fashion-forward!” 

Brittany made a regretful face, weaving from side to side beneath the force of the battle raging over their heads. “You know I love everything you do, my precious unicorn. I just think you could do some of it better. Like, that hat on Wednesday? I went the whole day thinking you were a walking popsicle. I didn’t know who you were until you yelled at Finn after school. Finn would have eaten a popsicle before it could yell at him.” 

“I have never been so appalled,” Kurt said, and then Santana’s heel slammed into his chest, heralding sweet revenge as she shrieked, “No, that’s cheating!” and dissolved into giggles. 

“I’m sorry, but desperate times,” Blaine said, and continued to wriggle his fingers along her ribs. “I can’t afford to be a gentleman. For Kurt! For room to spread out at night! For comfort!”

Santana, with remarkable timing, slid over backwards. At the last second, she locked her legs around Kurt, dragging him under with her. It was dark and brown down there, and Kurt shot back up, gasping for good clean air. 

“Damn it!” Santana shoved a handful of sopping hair out of her face. “I forgot I couldn’t exploit my number one asset. I always win chicken, because no one can resist the chance to feel me up, and they get distracted.” She splashed Blaine, and Brittany dumped him off her shoulders, possibly in solidarity. 

“You play chicken against girls all the time,” Kurt pointed out, wading over to Blaine’s rescue. 

“I said _no one_ , I meant no one,” Santana smirked. “Except the Littlest Gay, apparently. He’s probably emotionally stunted, Kurt, here’s your first warning. It’s not healthy to have zero interest in breasts as impeccably well-crafted as these. It doesn’t even have to be sexual. I’m just saying he should have wanted a handful.” 

“A handful of what?” Blaine shook water out of his ears. 

“Never mind,” Kurt said hurriedly, stifling his laugh by letting himself think of the grime getting into his pores at this very second. “I need to get out of here before one of the fish bites me.” 

“Fish have teeth?!” Brittany grabbed his hand and towed him toward shore. “Santana, come on, their mouths are huge!” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blaine, still flush with victory and unafraid of fish, was the only one sticking out the water an hour later. Santana and Brittany were sunning themselves, nude, beside Kurt’s protective cocoon of shade. 

“Ugh, look at him,” Santana said, raising her head slightly to check Blaine’s backstroke. “It’s disgusting how much energy he has.” 

“You sound like my parents,” Kurt said. “I mean, when I was little….” 

“I know.” She threw an arm over her eyes, sinking back onto her towel. “I sound like a freaking _grandma_. I can’t believe I’m already eighteen. I’m practically twenty. Someone just shoot me.” 

Brittany snuffled in her sleep, and Santana prodded her onto her back to bake the other side. Kurt looked at Blaine in a belated attempt to avoid further informal lessons in female anatomy. “Twenty isn’t old,” he said without conviction. 

“Oh, please, Babyface, it’s ancient. And this whole ‘adult’ thing is coming at us like a freaking bullet. Have you even stopped to think about how by the time you get back next summer, nothing you’ve counted on all your life will be here anymore?” She wound a lock of Brittany’s hair around her fingers. “It’ll all be gone. Like it was never real in the first place.” She reflected on this. “Except our hot bods.” 

Kurt touched her arm. “I don’t think –”

Blaine rushed out of the water, hopping over scattered stones and branches to come drip on them. He gestured to Kurt’s umbrella and sunhat. “You know, Kurt, you’re awfully fixated on me being tan for someone who’s built himself a Fortress of Darkness.” 

“Oh, Blaine. We have very different complexions. Now why don’t you strip down and join the girls?” 

“Mm, yes please,” Santana said, sitting up. 

“Join the girls, but… on my other side. Behind the umbrella.” Kurt tossed a pebble at Santana’s leg. 

“Excuse me, I need this…” She reached forward and grabbed Blaine’s swimsuit, squeezing out a handful of water and flicking it into Kurt’s hair. 

“I just finished fixing it!” Kurt protested. 

“And now you have a whole new look,” Blaine said, flopping down beside him. 

“It’s a messy look.”

“I’ll spiff it up for you.” He ran his fingers through Kurt’s hair. 

“Don’t keep it PG on my account, boys.” 

“You know what?” Blaine did something with his fingers; Kurt suspected he was being given a row of little spikes in his hair, but didn’t protest. “This is the best birthday ever.” 

Santana cackled. “Yes! He said it before Brittany! You owe me ten bucks, Hummel.” 

“Fine, fine, you’ll get your money.” 

“I’m sorry?” Blaine said. “I’m not sure what just happened, but I think I’m sorry.” 

“No, you are enthusiastic and delightful and already won us the bed for tonight.” Kurt kissed him. 

“Enthusiastic and delightful and predictable.”

“Shut it, Santana.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It turned out that cooking over an open fire was not quite as straightforward as the internet had led him to believe, but Kurt was nothing if not a miracle-worker in the kitchen. Or on the floor of a rustic living/bedroom combo, waiting to be devoured by Sasquatch. At any rate, he had conquered and served the hamburgers, and decided that it was a success unless proven otherwise by violent illness in the night. 

“Let’s play a game,” said Brittany, sucking hamburger juice off her fingers. “Let’s play spin the bottle but with duets.” 

“Why do you get to choose all the games?” Blaine had a streak of sunburn across the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks, red against his darkened skin, and it was unbearably handsome. It had also laid him low, and he was eating sprawled on his stomach across the bed, hanging over the edge. 

“I’m sorry, do you _not_ want to play the magical game of duet spin the bottle?” Brittany, Kurt mused, had a truly humbling technique for combining ‘challenging’ with ‘baffled.’ He was going to have to get her to coach him so he could use it on directors in New York when they questioned his acting decisions. 

“It sounds fun,” Blaine caved. “As long as I don’t have to move.” 

Kurt laughed. “If you can get through a whole song without bouncing in place or jumping on a piece of furniture, I will let you style my hair and then I will wear it in public.” 

Blaine lifted his head. “Without changing it between when I style it and when you go out?”

_Damn_. “Of course not!” 

“Deal.” 

“Gag me, you two,” Santana sighed, and set a soda bottle on the rough-hewn floor, popping another one open for herself and downing half of it in one gulp. She winced, then announced, “I’m spinning for Britt.” 

“My fingers are a mess,” Brittany agreed, still sucking them clean. 

“Well, if you wouldn’t deliberately squeeze the hamburger before you eat....” 

“You have to do that to get the bun all soggy, Kurt. That’s how it’s done.”

“Pick me, pick me, pick me,” Blaine chanted, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Kurt,” Santana said with a wide smile as the bottle wobbled to halt. It was indeed pointing in a more Kurt-ish direction than anyone else, although if the poker had been able to sing it would have been first choice. 

“Gentleman chooses the song?” Kurt said quickly. 

“We will be singing one song, and one song only. It’s an ode to the depth of my feelings about our imminent separation, and to my hope that we will stay in touch no matter what.” Brittany produced Kurt’s hairbrush for use as a microphone and ushered him over to stand beside her. “It’s called ‘Banana Phone’ and I think it really captures my feelings.” 

Kurt threw someone’s toothbrush at Blaine when he started laughing. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kurt had been nearly sure there was no alcohol in the car, and that all of the bottles were soda, but by the time they finished “Banana Phone” and Santana and Brittany had warbled their way through “A Whole New World,” he was pretty sure Santana was tipsy. She staggered on her way to Blaine when the bottle pointed his way, leaning into his side when she reached the bed. “I know what I want to sing,” she said. 

“I’ve got you.” Blaine patted her back. “Lead on.” 

Santana launched directly into the song. _“Say it’s only a paper moon, sailing over a cardboard sea…”_

_“But it wouldn’t be make-believe, if you believed in me,”_ Blaine jumped in hurriedly, and stopped when Santana started sobbing into his shoulder. 

“I just really love you guys,” she wailed. 

“We know, pumpkin!” Brittany hurried over and bundled her to their pile of sleeping bags. “We love you too! Come on, _querida_.” 

“Your accent is so bad,” Santana sobbed. “It’s atrocious.” 

“That’s my girl.” Brittany rubbed Santana’s shoulder and shook her head at Kurt. “It’s way past her bedtime. Which is weird, because we’re usually up later than this. You have to turn the lights out.” 

“Um, okay…” Kurt scampered to do so, sliding into bed with Blaine before the zomboid creatures from the black lagoon could catch him. “That doesn’t count as not moving around during a song,” he whispered to Blaine. 

“It was part of a song. Can I style part of your hair?” 

Kurt poked him in the side and pulled him closer, feeling him go loose and heavy with sleep. Blaine could sleep faster than anyone he knew, even Finn. He might have been a little jealous of the ability. 

Santana’s sobs died quickly to snuffles and then to a few disconnected strains, _“Y si la historia no te parece larga, volveremos, volveremos, volveremos a empezar.”_

Brittany snored softly. “Santana?” Kurt whispered. 

“Uh-huh?” 

“What is that song? I mean, what is it about?” 

Her eyes caught the light, gleaming. “S’about a boat that never learns to sail. Weeks and weeks go by, and it never even _tries._ And then the song starts over. It never, ever learns.” 

“That’s terrible.” 

“It is,” Santana said. “But Brittany doesn’t speak Spanish.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was past midnight when Kurt got up – at least, he assumed it was. With no light in the cabin, not so much as a plugged-in computer or a night-light, he couldn’t see his watch. He grabbed his phone and picked his way out the back door. 

In the sparse grass at the stoop he set the phone down. The moon was full and brilliant yellow, turning everything gray but perfectly visible, and his watch legible. 

“Kurt?” Blaine stepped down beside him, yawning, shrugging himself into a purple shirt of which Kurt was particularly fond; it was cotton and felt spectacular between Kurt’s hands and Blaine’s skin. “What are you doing? It’s like… one in the morning.” 

“One forty-three,” Kurt said. “And I don’t know.” He reached back to take his hand. “Couldn’t sleep, I guess. Want to make out under the full moon?”

“Oh, yes, please.” Blaine pulled Kurt’s arm over his shoulders, snuggling into his side. “Let me just enter it into the calendar on my phone so that it’s scheduled….” 

“ _Mon humoriste peu_ ,” Kurt said, tugging him toward the dock. 

“I try.” 

Blaine steered them to the dock, and Kurt sank down at the end, leaning into him and dangling his feet in the water. A boat drifted in the distance, and he stared out at it. He hadn’t known anyone else was on the lake, although in retrospect he supposed Santana’s aunt couldn’t own the whole thing. 

He shook himself from his reverie and kicked some water at Blaine’s legs. “It’s not really that cold.” 

“Mm.” Blaine kissed the corner of his mouth. “What’s up with you?” 

Kurt looked at the boat. “Did you hear Santana’s song? What she said in English, I mean?” 

“Yeah, I was in and out, but I got the gist. Like a depressing version of _The Little Engine That Could_.” He reached across and ran his thumb over Kurt’s hand. “You killed your audition, Kurt. You don’t have to worry. La Thibodeaux loved it!” 

“But getting into school – which I still haven’t even done – isn’t enough. I could still… not be good enough, or not get a fair shot because I’m different. And what if –” He inhaled heavily and held it until his lungs burned. “What if I’m sabotaging myself, like Rachel said, but by leaving? I spent so much of this year worrying I wouldn’t get my chance to leave, but what if my _chance_ is right here? I finally have a perfect family and boyfriend, and I’ll come back next summer and everything I care about will be…” 

“Right where you left it,” Blaine said firmly. 

“It won’t, though. Even my dad was talking about how different it will be when I move out. I mean, at some point… things get so different that they’re unrecognizable.” 

Blaine sighed. “Is it weird that I’m kind of glad to hear you say that?”

“What?” Kurt leaned away. “Yes! That is not comforting!” 

Blaine screwed up his face. “I just mean I’m glad you’re taking this seriously. You being gone for a year is going to be really hard, and we need to actually talk about it.” He laughed when Kurt continued to gape. “No, but – we can do it. We _can_ , right? I believe in you, Kurt. You’re going to be a star. And I believe in us.” 

“Promise we’ll be okay?” As soon as he said it, he wanted to take it back. 

But, “I promise,” said Blaine, and Kurt loved him for saying it. He picked Kurt’s hand up and kissed his knuckles. “I have a suggestion to make.” 

“Suggest away, Mr. Anderson.” 

“What if we found a moonlit glade? I don’t have any lilacs handy, but we could still do the moonlit glade part.” 

Kurt snorted with laughter, then stood up, resolute. “You know something? That sounds lovely.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kurt rolled over and winced when his back hit the sheets, and not because of their appallingly low thread count. 

“What’s wrong?” Blaine cooed, leaning over him, wide awake and bright eyed. 

“Tree root injuries,” Kurt gasped, groping for his lower back. 

“Poor guy.” Blaine grinned. “You should see mine, it’s black and blue.” 

“It is not! You’re way too cheerful to be in pain _and_ awake at six in the morning after a night of emotions and love-making.” 

“See!” Blaine bounced fully upright, blankets falling aside. 

Kurt yelped at the exposure to the morning air and tugged Blaine down against his side, yanking the blankets back up over them. “I believe you, I believe you!” 

Blaine hummed against his chest, snuggling up. “Serves you right for ever doubting me.”

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“Yes, I am.” He rolled onto his front, resting his chin on Kurt’s chest. “Is that Brittany snoring?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“I think it sounds cute! What do you want for breakfast? I could get it going. You wanted to leave by eleven, right?” 

“You know what?” Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s shoulders. “I don’t care. I can call my dad if we’re late. Let’s just… see where the morning takes us.” 

“Next you’ll let Santana pick breakfast.” 

“Please, I’m not that far gone. She’ll choose raw eggs or something morbid like that.” 

“She can’t, remember? Brittany won’t eat eggs.” 

“Protein shakes, then. The ones with the vomit aftertaste.” 

Blaine stifled his laughter in Kurt’s neck. “We shouldn’t be making fun, though. Don’t you have an hour of moisturizing to do? And I have to go gel my hair until I look less like Frodo Baggins.” 

“No,” Kurt sighed. “Just stay here. Let’s let that stuff slide.”

“Are you serious? We have to be prepared to face the day! You have a whole speech about this. You’ve given it to me like three separate times.” 

“Two.”

“No, it was definitely three – remember, the last time when we slept over at Mercedes’s house and I said we should just treat the next day like an extension of the pajama party and you said that every failure to wash your face adds ten years to your physical appearance –” 

“Fine, it was three!” Kurt laughed, tickling Blaine’s ribs to prevent any victory dancing. “No, I just… let’s not waste any of our time on that. Anyway, the day’s going to come along and smack us in the face whether we’re prepared for it or not. Let’s not bother. To hell with it, right?” 

Blaine hoisted himself onto his elbow again, looking down into Kurt’s eyes. “Right,” he said quietly. 

“To hell with it?” 

Blaine’s nose crinkled and he winced as the tender skin stretched, but smiled again and bent to kiss Kurt. “To hell with it.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Brittany packed everyone up single-handedly and got the luggage to the car in two trips, earning Kurt’s eternal resentment, before announcing, “I call co-pilot!” She picked Blaine up and spun around, removing him from her path, then ran and jumped in front, locking the door behind her. 

“I’ll take first shift driving,” Santana said, flipping on her sunglasses. 

“I wasn’t going to try to take shotgun,” Blaine said, nonplussed, wrapping an arm around Kurt. 

“Never mind.” Kurt kissed his cheek. 

“Fine, but I’m napping in your lap this time,” Blaine said, opening the rear door and handing Kurt in. 

“So, Brittany.” Kurt buckled himself in and kicked the back of Santana’s seat until she did the same. “This time-traveling thing – how does it work with the future? How do we get there, on a map?” 

“Duh, it’s in New York. Where they have super tall buildings that fit Finn, and flying cars, and sushi restaurants open all night. Also we’re all rich and famous.” 

Santana pulled onto the road and reached over to squeeze Brittany’s knee. “Flawless logic.” 

Brittany twisted in her seat to look over her shoulder at Kurt. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“What, the future? Or getting there in a Chevy?” 

“Either. We don’t have to go there yet. We’re just going back to the present, and we have that in the bag.” She extended a hand. “Lay ’er there.” 

“Oh, my god,” Kurt murmured. 

“The lady has a point,” Blaine said. 

“She does, at that.” Kurt tapped their palms together. “Well played, Britt.”

“I’m pretty much right about everything. It’s my cross to bear.” Brittany reached over and pressed on Santana’s knee, accelerating the car. 

“To the present?” Blaine reached over and took Kurt’s hand in his. 

Kurt tried very briefly to suppress a laugh. “I’m ready if you are.”


End file.
